Honesty is the best policy

Found this on Craig's List ...

I am an italian 39 years old and I live in Avellino near Naples. I live in Italy but I would like to live and to work in USA. I have been in Boston many time and I love the USA. The easiest way for me to do this is to marry an American woman, between the ages of 28-45 that is believable to INS, to get the permanent residency ( Green Card ). I am interested both a serious relationship and a business relationship; about business relationship logically you might continue to do the same life and after 3 years we can divorce if you like, else if we like us after that we have get to know us then we can live together. Anyway, if you think that you can help me also in another way then answer me, please. I am 5'7'' tall and athletic body, genuine and easygoing guy who is following his American dream for ages. I am single, never married and I have not children. I am electronic technician who loves music, soccer, going out, wine and conversation. I am hardworking and I can do many different types of jobs. Well, if you are interested to get to know me replay me. Ciao e a presto!

Changing Rooms has been here

We didn't add a window in the living room. The last photo is of the other side of the living room, because I thought it was pretty. So long dusty coral or dirty rose or whatever Walmart bucket paint color that was.

And so long ghosts too, apparently. There seems to be a wee one hanging around my bedroom, but I can't see any in the other photos. The chair/bedroom photo shows the cat's scratch post -- you know, I'm not a photographer. I got the dirty clothes out of the way, but the scratch post is kind of like an ottoman for the chair, so ... whatever.

And, yeah, that's my Phil Oakey/Giorgio Moroder 12" single next to the record player. What of it? Sure, it was a bad song in 1984 and has not aged like wine or cheese (maybe a little like cheese), but in my office, it helps make the magic happen. So there.

Don't Stop Slee-eepin'

A, A, A-, just so's ya know. This college junk is a snap! Since finishing the year last Thursday I've done a lot

of sleeping.

The narcolepsy is back. Wake up, sleep, wake up, nap, work some, sleep, go back to work, nap, get up, go to bed.

It's like I'm trying to catch up on 10 weeks of sleep deprivation by taking a constant nap. When I'm awake I'm cranky like a 2 year-old. I haven't yet started the round of friend calling either. The day's gone before I even get moving. Coffee helps a little ... to make me an anxious cranky 2 year-old.

Summer Reading Series:
I started with Richard Wright's "Black Boy" and I'm not sure if this will be the summer of the American author or not. I've got plenty to get through, but I've got a hankering to get into that Nick Hornby one from last year. Maybe it'll be the summer of the boy author. Maybe I'll just randomly select books from the giant pile and burn through as many as I can before September. Effin' A, tho ... "Black Boy" is a serious bummer. I'll need some Jeeves to bounce me back when it's over.

Found the camera hook-up and the software, now I've got to photo and load. When will the work end ohhhhhhhhh Godddddddddddddddddddddd

25 days to the Vegas trip

I passed! I passed! I passed that m&$^@#-f(&%@$ grammar test!

DRINKS for all my friennnnnnnnnnnnnds.

Est-ce que j'ai mentionné combien j'aime Charles Aznavour ?

Other People's Mail

I'm not breaking the law. I don't think catalogs count as mail. Most of the time they include "or current resident" so it's okay. Right? Maybe not, but I love wayward mail that doesn't get forwarded. There's always the odd bank statement (you'd think something like that you'd be a little more careful about) and investment and 401k statements which get scratched with "NOT AT THIS ADDRESS" and popped in a mailbox, but there's not much you can do with catalogs.

At the last house we would get fluffy pajama catalogs for a while and Popcorn Factory and that one with the pens. I had JCrew (I'll need to get a new one .... hmm ...), but I pity the people picking up my selection of Anthropologie catalogs now. In this house it's come-ons for strange, obscure magazines and lovely Buddha gifts from The Monastery Store.

Maybe it's because it's from Dharma Communications, which gives me that Lost vibe, but I had to check out The Monastery Store stuff. No plain-wrapped chips or peanut butter, but some fun mountain seats, some helpful meditation timers so you don't over do it, and this fantastic Tibetan Meditation Cloak that I can see myself living in or building a fort out of during the winter. Honestly, I do this with my blankets for 4 months out of the year. Might as well make it official. The Malas are pretty, but it makes me think of "King Kong" and the word for friend. "He says we've ruined the ceremony ... Mala. Mala." I like the Beginner's Practice Kit as well, but only for the copy: "Everything you need to jumpstart your practice into stillness." [copyright © Dharma Communications.] Wait ... what ... jumpstart to stillness? Is that one of those nutty Zen ironies?

Manic peace to you all.

When it comes to Paris, I'm just like any other blogger

Sure, it's a media circus. Yes, justice in the country is a complete sham. No, if she was poor she would not have been given special treatment. Yes, it's stupid that so much fecking time and resources are spent on this story.

Ma dai! Celebrities that cry about not having privacy are crazy. Sugars, what are you thinking? You dress in fancy clothes, get your make up done and your hair set by professionals paid just to do that for you, and you live a life that most of us probably will never experience. It's a total fair tale. Then maybe you break the law or shoplift a scarf or lower yourself in some fashion, and, yeah, maybe it is weird for you to get your head around the fact that you would suddenly have to live a non-fairy tale life. It would be like me winning the lottery.

But since Roman emperors had their likeness carved and erected in the public square, certain people want attention and get it and everyone knows who they are (except for my friend Steven, who I think is now aware of Paris Hilton, but, like the rest of us, is unsure of why she's a celebrity), and these people are watched and studied and admired and hated. Trouble is, you can't turn it off, my pets. If you could, Princess Diana would probably be alive.

I'm going to by a weed digger-outer now.

schoooooooooool's out for SumMER

I still have that grammar test and a paper to write for history, but since Italian is all done and we're watching movies in the Lit class, it already feels like the semester is over. For Sophomore goings-on, it didn't suck. I've had worse years. There were ups (Info Hell) and downs (Visual Communication), but it all seemed to balance out.

It's sad to think that I'm halfway through the process. I'm not scared of graduation in the sense that it means "going into the real world" but I don't like the idea of paying off the student loans. It's also hard to put together internships or journalism work experience with my present job. I've got the application for the Emerald and I know I need to get something in print, but I've gotta pay the rent, man. feck. Although, honestly, there's always graduate school.

Or Cash Cab.

All of my troubles would be solved if I could just get on Cash Cab.

sing. sing a song.

Today I went to Target and bought my own record player for the upstairs library.

I wanted something to play while I worked on the PC, but mostly it was because my records were pariah to the cousin/roommate's nice stereo. Sure, not everyone likes Andy Gibb and I know I'm the only one holding onto the virtues "Devil Woman" by Cliff Richard. I get it and I've got no problem with that. And most of my records are in good condition, but I liked to play them. A lot. So some are a little more worn out than others and it would irritate the cousin/roommate to hear his millionaire needle scratching over the top of "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves". Now that I'm upstairs I'm indulging in a gluttony of great records without the guilt of sharing crap with everyone or bouncing the needle. And the player was hella cheap, so I'm not worried about playing scratchy stuff like Bobby Sherman on it. The replacement needles are $15. No diamond tips here, for sure.

So, I started with "Love and Pride" by King and followed up with "Afternoon Delight" by the Starlight Vocal Band. Now it's The Carpenters. Yeah, they're corny, but "Superstar" is a bomb song. "Rainy Days and Sundays" ... who could not like these songs? "When they get to the part/Where he's breakin' her heart/It can really make me cry..."

They remind me of my late Aunt Florence. I didn't like her much because she was kind of loud and rough and pushy, but when she died my cousin told me how much her mom loved The Carpenters. Now I think of her every time I put the record on and it makes me appreciate Aunt Florence more than I did while she was alive. She arranged for a beer truck at her funeral -- that's right, a truck full of beer with taps on the side. She was loud and pushy and rough, but she also had some shine.

That's what The Carpenters will do for you, man.

Amen.